


let it pass

by verity



Series: tween wolf [18]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Pack Feels, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-25
Updated: 2013-04-25
Packaged: 2017-12-09 12:10:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/774040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verity/pseuds/verity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has currently exceeded his capacity for freaking. Allison Argent showed up on his doorstep tonight. He had a panic attack and broke one of Mom's favorite dishes. Allison Argent is now a gymnast <i>who sleeps with knives</i>. If Lydia Martin showed up and declared her undying love, which will never happen, Stiles would probably react by rolling over and shoving his face into the carpet, because no. Nope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	let it pass

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blue_rocket_frost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_rocket_frost/gifts).



> content note, as tagged: detailed description of panic attacks

One of the plates is a melamine deal from Target, worn pink flowers on a pale orange background, but the other's an old flea market find of his mom's, cobalt Fiesta ware, and it shatters when it hits the ground. Stiles follows them both to the floor, crumpling on his knees by the dishwasher. The panic clenches like a fist in his chest, forcing the air out of his lungs, and he forgets everything he's learned, just gasps and bends over while his fingers dig into his thighs.

_is dad driving, is he safe, what if he's called out to a home invasion, has to intercede in a domestic, if there's a knife, a gun, what if it's a heart attack, and he's alone, or he's in his office, what if it's a stroke, they don't have a family history but aneurysms, those can happen any time, what if stiles has to come and he's in a hospital bed, or a drawer, or a gurney, what if there's nothing left what if there's no body what if what if what if what if_

—and then it's gone, as suddenly as it came, and Stiles slumps to the side, sprawls out on the floor, head bumping against the broiler drawer of the oven.

—

He calls Laura, because if he calls Dad, Dad will come straight home, and there's nothing Stiles wants more in the world right now than to see his dad and maybe yell at him for eating donuts, but Allison's sleeping in his room and she can't go over to Lydia's until the morning. Laura might not be on duty or at the station, but she'll answer the phone and she won't rat him out to Dad.

Stiles's fingers shake on the screen, slipping as he pulls up his contact list. "Laura?" he says as soon as the call connects.

"No," someone else says, and, oh, it's Daphne. "Did someone die? Because otherwise—"

"I need to talk to her," Stiles chokes out.

He must sound bad, because Daphne just says, "Yeah, fine," and mutes the phone.

Laura picks up a minute later. "Stiles?" Her voice is rough, sleepy. "Hey, what's—"

"Is Dad okay? Can you find out? I just—" He wipes at his eyes. Great, he's crying. "I—I don't know, I freaked out, I'm still kind of—and I don't—I don't want him—"

"Whoa," Laura says. "Okay. Take a deep breath for me. Can you do that?"

"No," Stiles says, because, fuck, this must be like earthquake aftershocks, his stomach is cramping up, breath coming short, and he's going to die, because he can't—

"I'm coming over," Laura says. "Stay on the line."

"I can't," Stiles says, and hangs up.

—

So, he has ten minutes, maybe, that might be long enough. He has to drag himself upstairs by the bannister, inhaling air like molasses, but he gets up to his room, croaks, "Allison?" and she bolts up from her sleeping bag.

"What?" she says, hand going to, what the hell, a sheath? on her hip. "Oh, shit, Stiles, you—you just startled me."

"No, no," he moans. "I'm sorry, you have to go, Laura's coming over, I—you can come back in the morning, I can text you, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I just—"

Allison looks at him, bites her lip. "Change your clothes. Don't let her come up here."

"What?" Stiles says.

"She'll pick my scent up downstairs, but if you don't smell like me, she'll probably let it pass. Come on," she says. "It's okay, Stiles. I don't mind."

And then she opens his window and does some freaky backflip out and Stiles can handle precisely _none of this_.

—

By the time Laura lets herself in, Stiles is in last night's pajamas, sitting in the corner in the living room between the bookshelves because that's always made him feel safer. She crouches down in front of him and someone else closes the door—Daphne, bright hair hiding her face.

"Hey," Laura says. "Your dad's just fine. Can you talk to me? Tell me what's going on?"

Stiles shakes his head, slumps forward over his bent knees.

"Can I touch you?" Laura asks, and waits for his assent.

When Laura's hand comes to rest on his forehead, it's cool, gentle, and some of the pressure in his chest lightens, the tension starts smoothing out of his back and shoulders. He feels a little woozy. Somewhere in the background, Laura's talking to Daphne, and he can hear when Daphne moves into the kitchen, feet tapping against the tile. She comes back with a glass of milk and sits down on the floor next to Laura, legs folded beneath her. "Drink some milk, kid," she says. "If you pass out, we're going to have to call Scott's mom _and_ your dad."

"Ugh," Stiles manages. He gets his fingers around the glass, one of the pebbled ones that's easy to grip, and takes one sip, then another. By the time he makes it halfway through the glass, he can focus on Laura and Daphne, who are having a conversation with their eyebrows that he is definitely to not up to interpreting. "Hey. Um, thanks. You didn't have to come over."

"No, we really, really had to," Daphne says, which would freak Stiles out any other time because it's Daphne. But Stiles has currently exceeded his capacity for freaking. Allison Argent showed up on his doorstep tonight. He had a panic attack and broke one of Mom's favorite dishes. Allison Argent is now a gymnast _who sleeps with knives_. If Lydia Martin showed up and declared her undying love, which will never happen, Stiles would probably react by rolling over and shoving his face into the carpet, because no. Nope.

Laura pulls her hand away, wrings it out; the black lines recede up her arm. "Your dad's safe and sound," she says. "When I talked to him, he was at the station doing some paperwork. He'll be home around eight. We're going to stay until then."

Fuck. "I'm fine," Stiles says. "You don't have to do that. I'll just—I'll go to bed, okay?"

Laura sighs. Stiles knows this particular sigh well, from all the nights when Dad has sent her to drag him and Scott out of the woods and all the times he made her watch _Back to the Future_ before Dad decided he was old enough to spend nights on his own. He's not part of Laura's pack, but Laura treats him like he is; Laura's not his alpha, but she drags him around by the proverbial scuff of his neck like she is whenever she can get away with it.

"Suck it up," Daphne says. "I'm taking the couch. You two can fight about who sleeps in the recliner."

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [ladyofthelog](http://ladyofthelog.tumblr.com) on tumblr.


End file.
